


Fara í Víking: Fyrsta

by Erandir



Series: Fara í Víking [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Non-specific Pairings, Space Opera, Space Pirates, Space Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erandir/pseuds/Erandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The paths of five misfits from across the galaxy converge. Two young men searching for a home, two running away, and one wandering lost form an unlikely partnership that turns out to answer all of their prayers.</p><p>Prequel to my previous work, Fara í Víking. Reading that is not necessary to understand this, but will give a head start on understanding the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midgard

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Canon Names:  
> Denmark – Mathias Andersen  
> Netherlands – Jan van den Berg  
> Norway – Aleksander Nilsen  
> Iceland – Eiríkur Nilsen

Mathias was like him. That was what his current ‘parents’ said. All of his ‘parents’ had said that about all the other children Berwald had lived with, always encouraging him to make friends. In this case, they could not have been more wrong. Berwald and Mathias were polar opposites. Maybe that was why it worked out this time.

Berwald had never had any family to speak of, and that was fine with him. He had never cared much that he did not have a mother, father or siblings. Certainly, when he was younger he had wondered. Who were his parents? Where were they? What happened to them? The simple answer was that no one knew, and while that had been disappointing at first Berwald eventually accepted it. This life was what he was used to and all he had ever known; and there was no sense in wishing for things you could not have. After all, he had a pretty good life for a parentless child. He had a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, and warm meals every night, all provided for him by the government.

He had lived many places in his fairly short life; some for as long as two years and some for as little as a few weeks. Some he liked better than others, but Berwald knew not to get attached, that was something that you learn quickly. For as long as he could remember Berwald had been shuffled around from home to home. In the beginning sometimes there were only one or two other kids that he lived with, others like him who had been stuffed into the foster system rather than end up on the street, but still no more than a number in a computer to the people who had put them there.

Of course, it probably helped him stay detached that he could barely make out the faces of his caregivers and housemates. For as long as he could remember Berwald’s world had been fuzzy around the edges. For a long time he had not realized that everyone else saw things clearly. But Berwald’s perception of the world was blurred, and getting worse every day his eyes fought unaided to bring the world into its proper focus. But no matter how many times Berwald bumped into tables or stubbed his toes on things left out of place none of his many caregivers had ever put the pieces together. They put it down to clumsiness. A tall, gangly, awkward boy like him was bound to be clumsy. So Berwald continued to squint at the world and nurse headaches at night.

With no friends and completely unable to see anything more than an arm’s length in front of his face, Berwald interested himself in the things he could see properly. Books, small trinkets, and whatever gadgets his temporary guardians happened to leave around for him to find. With a screwdriver and a pair of tweezers Berwald took apart anything he could get his hands on, and then put it back together, often multiple times.

He was almost free from this life. Almost old enough to leave behind all his temporary caregivers and head out on his own. Although how he would manage on his own in this world, half-blind as he was, was still a mystery to the teenage boy.  Berwald assumed it would always be this way. Always fending for himself, with no family or friends. No one had ever wanted to be his friend; he was tall, awkward, hard to understand through a thick accent picked up at his earliest homes and his habit of mumbling, and Berwald was downright frightening. Or at least he assumed so; the younger kids always seemed to run away from him for no reason.

Mathias was different, though.

“This is Mathias,” his current ‘mother’ had introduced them. “He’s going to be staying with us now. You two are the same age, so maybe you can be friends.”

Berwald thought she must not have been paying much attention to him if she thought he could make friends with any of the other orphan children. None-the-less, he nodded and, as she left the two teens alone, turned to face the new arrival. Immediately he knew that this time it would be different. Even as only a blur in his eyes Mathias was distinguishable from the others. He was shorter than Berwald, but that was not unusual, even at fifteen Berwald towered above his peers and some adults. What made Mathias stand out in the teen’s blurry world was his hair.  Though it was the same yellowish blond as almost everyone else around here Mathias’ hair was completely untamed. It stuck out at every angle in a way that seemed to mock the laws of physics.

“Man, you’re tall,” Mathias whistled in amazement as he stared up at Berwald. It did not seem to bother him that the taller boy did not speak a word, nor that Berwald favored him with his usual squinting glare, the expression his face had adopted years ago in a futile attempt to bring the world into focus. “I bet you’re nearly two meters, huh? I always hoped I’d hit two meters. You think there’s still hope for me?”

There was, Berwald would have admitted. Mathias was average height for their age but there was always the chance his last adolescent growth spurt would give more than a couple centimeters. Berwald did not say that, however. Mathias did not give him a chance. Instead, the other boy just continued talking. Mathias babbled inane observations and asked questions without ever giving Berwald a chance to answer. He liked the sound of his own voice, Berwald assumed, but never did anything to shut him up.

When he finally stopped long enough for Berwald to get a word in the taller boy was not even sure what to say. He could not remember half the questions that had been asked of him, and honestly had not been paying attention to a lot of Mathias’ monologue. But somehow this strange introduction worked. Mathias stuck with him for the entire rest of the day and Berwald did his best to show the new arrival around their shared home.

The current home housed five children, six now that Mathias had arrived. Berwald was the oldest. The kids and their two guardians were crammed into five bedrooms, three bathrooms and one small kitchen. It was not nearly enough space for so many, but Berwald spent most of his time cooped up in his room anyway, so it made no difference to him. At least he had his own room this time. And they were in the heart of the city now, a larger house would be hard to find but there was plenty of places to escape to if Berwald felt the need. He rarely did.

“She say which room’s yours?” Berwald asked after a very brief tour of their limited living space. There was not much to see even for those that could see.

“I’m rooming with you,” Mathias announced happily.

Great. So much for his privacy. Berwald suspected that their current ‘mother’ was trying to set them up. He was doubtful it would work. Berwald fully expected his new roommate to become as bored and creeped out by him as everyone else seemed to me. If he were completely honest, though, Berwald would appreciate that she was at least putting in the effort. It was more than most of his other guardians would have bothered to do.

“S’this way,” Berwald said with a sigh, and turned to lead his new roommate to his room. Maybe if he was lucky Mathias would get shuffled off to another home soon, or he would. As long as Berwald got left alone again.

Berwald’s room was on the third and highest floor of their home. It was not terribly large, which was why he did not want to share it, but it had a big window with a nice view of the streets outside. Despite what Berwald thought, his room was furnished for two, with a bunk bed, two desks and one large dresser.

It was not a large room, but kids in their situation rarely had many possessions. There was plenty of space for the two of them.

Mathias waltzed right in like he owned the place, and he had just as much right to it as Berwald, but still the action annoyed him. This was his room, and he had enjoyed having it all to himself for so long. Now here was Mathias, ready to mess that all up. He was now even more certain that his ‘parents’ had planned this on purpose.

“Not bad,” Mathias commented, “Which bunk’s yours?” he asked.

“Top,” Berwald answered. Until now he had been using the bottom as a sofa, but he supposed those days were over. And he would have to cram all his things into half of the dresser, which he could certainly do, but it was annoying.

“Aww,” Mathias said, obviously disappointed. “I’ve always wanted a top bunk. Oh well,” he shrugged, not easily deterred, it seemed, and went over to test out the mattress. This was done by flopping down onto it bodily and stretching out as far as he could. When he deemed it acceptable, Mathias sat up and looked at Berwald, who was still standing by the door watching him. “So how is this place?” he asked curiously. “The last home they had me in, across town, they made us do chores all day after our lessons, it was horrible. Do they do that here?”

“No,” Berwald replied. He had lived with his share of slave driver foster parents, though, and he knew what that was like. “Let us do whatever as long as we finish school work.”

“Great,” Mathias said with a smile. “I hated doing chores. Why does the floor need to be cleaned every day if we’re just going to walk all over it again?” Berwald did not bother answering because he did not think it was worth the effort, nor did he care about the motivations of some other foster parent. At least Mathias did not seem to mind his silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?” the other boy asked, as though sensing Berwald’s thoughts. Berwald answered simply with a shake of his head. “Huh,” Mathias laughed to himself, “I guess not. Why’s that? Nothing to say, or are you embarrassed of your funny accent?”

“My accent’s not funny,” Berwald protested, frowning. He was well aware that he had one, along with a habit of mumbling.

“Yeah it is,” Mathias chuckled. “What is it, Swedish?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Berwald replied.

“How’d you pick that up?” Mathias asked. “I thought everyone these days just spoke Norse.”

“Grew up with a Swedish couple,” Berwald explained. “Spoke that before I spoke Norse.”

“How old fashioned,” Mathias said curiously. “Did you have to take classes or anything? Man, no one speaks a second language these days.”

Berwald shook his head. “Just listened,” he replied.

“Bet you’re good at that,” Mathias said, and Berwald could not tell if he was being condescending or not. He chose to take it as a compliment, because it was true. Then suddenly Mathias hopped to his feet again. “Well, guess I’ll unpack.”

Berwald had to move around quite a few of his own things in order to make room for Mathias’. It was annoying to have to share his space with someone else, but he supposed he would get used to it. If he could ever get used to Mathias’ constant talking, that is. And he definitely talked constantly, undeterred even when Berwald completely ignored him. Berwald was used to silence, for the most part, but now he had to listen to Mathias yammer on about absolutely nothing. Even when Berwald left the room to try and get away from it, Mathias just stopped what he was doing and followed after him like a lost dog. There was no escaping Mathias’ annoying voice and unending chatter.

So Berwald was very glad when that first day finally ended and they shut off the lights and climbed into bed. Mathias could not talk while he was sleeping. But Berwald was not used to sleeping in the same room as anyone; not anymore. It was probably just paranoid thinking, but Berwald could not get to sleep for fear that Mathias might do something. What, he had no idea. Just, something.

"Hey, Berwald?" Mathias asked into the darkness. Berwald thought he was asleep by now, he felt like he had been staring up at the black ceiling for ages. Berwald did not answer. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep. Maybe this was just another of Mathias' hypothetical questions just asked to prompt the Dane to talk about himself. "What happened to your parents?" Mathias asked after a long moment of silence.

Still Berwald remained silent. He had not talked about his parents in years, ever since he found out about them. Or rather found out that there was nothing to find out. He had no intention of talking about them now, either, but the words came out of his mouth of their own accord. "Don't know."

"What do you mean?" Berwald could hear the confusion in Mathias' voice.

"Don't know," Berwald repeated. "No one knows. Been in the system m' whole life.

Mathias did not reply right away. Obviously he was thinking over this answer. Berwald imagined it was just as disappointing to him as the news had been to Berwald when he found out. "I don't know what happened to mine, either," Mathias said when he finally spoke again. "I mean... I know who they were. I knew them. But they just... left."

Berwald swallowed. He had no idea what to say. He had never been able to sympathize with the other children about their lack of a family. Some had been orphans all their lives, like he had, and did not mind, but others had known and lost their families. He did not know what it felt like to have a mother or a father, and the various adults who had taken care of him throughout his life could hardly be called such. Parents were supposed to love you. None of his ever had.

"I was seven," Mathias continued. Berwald had no idea why he was telling him all this. "I went to school one day and mom never came to pick me up. I thought she just forgot, so I walked home. But no one was there. They never came home."

That must have been hard, Berwald thought, though he could not imagine the feeling itself. He had been abandoned by plenty of people in his life and it had stopped bothering him. He was not sure if it had ever bothered him. Maybe when he was a baby, but he could not remember.

"I kept waiting for them to come home, but they never did."

Why was Mathias still talking? Berwald did not understand him at all. What was the point in talking about it? What was the point in wishing for something that you could not have?

"Hey, Berwald," Mathias said again, and his voice was hesitant. "Do you think they left because of me?"

Berwald froze, his breath caught in his throat. How in Hel could he know why Mathias' parents had abandoned him? What did the other boy expect him to say? Why was he dumping all of his personal problems on Berwald? But while Berwald could not remember what it felt like to be abandoned, he knew how disappointing it was to not have answers. What had happened to his own parents? Were they dead? Had they abandoned him also? Were they out there somewhere? Did they even know he was alive?

"No," Berwald said. Again the word was out of his mouth before he could think about it.

“Thanks, Berwald,” Mathias said softly into the dark, and then Berwald could hear shifting in the bunk below his. A few minutes later he heard soft snoring, signaling that Mathias had finally fallen asleep.

* * *

It was the third day of their friendship, if it could be called that, when Mathias asked what had probably been an inevitable question. “So what’s up with your face?”

Tact was not something that Mathias had been blessed with. Berwald could not help being slightly offended even though he knew the other boy did not mean any harm. “What d’ you mean?” Berwald asked.

“You know,” Mathias said, waving his hand dismissively. He spoke as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and as though discussing all the faults in Berwald’s appearance was not rude in the slightest. “Why do you always look like you’re about to murder someone?”

Was that what he looked like? Berwald honestly had no idea. He rarely looked in mirrors, or spent a lot of time preoccupied with his appearance. Even if he had, it was not as though he had much to compare it to. “I do?” he asked curiously. If it was true, then no wonder so many of the others avoided him.

“Yeah,” Mathias nodded. “You never noticed?”

“No,” Berwald answered honestly.

“Did you’re face get stuck like that, or something?” Mathias asked. He sounded genuinely curious, which was a surprise to Berwald. For all that Mathias talked, he usually talked about himself, and he rarely showed genuine interest in other people. “My last foster kept warning one of the younger kids about that.”

Berwald hoped that Mathias did not honestly believe that was possible, but he just shrugged. He was not particularly aware of what his face usually looked like or how it compared to other faces. He usually could not make out the details of other peoples’ faces.

"That's why the little kids are scared of you, you know?" Mathias continued, unfazed by Berwald's silent reply. "Because you look really mean and scary. You should try smiling sometimes. Let 'em know you're friendly."

Smiling. Berwald didn't know if it would actually help. Maybe Mathias was right. He had always expected there was something about his appearance that drove other kids away. They seemed unwilling to try and make friends with him. Not that it bothered Berwald, he liked his privacy. And what if smiling just made it worse?

"Try it," Mathias encouraged, pushing forward even when Berwald did not reply. "Give us a smile," he laughed.

Mathias laughed easily. Berwald rarely saw what there was to laugh about; what was so funny. That was the reason he did not smile much. He was not depressed or angry, he just did not have anything to laugh about. For a moment, Berwald's usual frown deepened even more, and then he attempted a small, weak smile.

He could not see Mathias' reaction, but his words were not encouraging. "Aww, man, is that the best you can do? You won't be winning any girls with that face."

Immediately Berwald was frowning again. "Girls?" he asked in confusion.

"Well, yeah," Mathias said. "Don't you want to talk to girls someday?"

Not really, Berwald thought. He realized that boys his age were supposed to start being interested in that sort of thing, but he was not, and he did not see the appeal. He heard the girls in the house talking; they did not seem like anyone he wanted to spend time with. But Berwald did not want to admit that to Mathias. Surely it would make him look even stranger than usual. So he just shrugged again.

Mathias seemed surprised with this answer, if only because he did not immediately have a witty reply ready to tear Berwald down. "Oh," was all he said. "Well, so you can make friends, then. Or get a job someday, or something. You seriously never look at girls?"

Look at them? What was the use in looking at them when Berwald could barely make out their faces. "Can't see 'em anyway," he commented.

"What do you mean you can't see them?" Mathias asked in confusion.

"What I said," Berwald replied.

Mathias was silent for a long while. "Shit... Are you blind, or something?" he asked, voice hesitant.

Berwald shook his head. He could see. "No, just... my eyes're really bad."

"Seriously?" Mathias asked. "So bad you can't stare at people? Why don't you have glasses or something?"

Berwald shrugged again. He did not actually have an answer for that. Probably, if he had mentioned something, one of his parents would have taken him to get his eyes checked and bought him some proper glasses. But Berwald never said anything. He was used to living this way, and he hated to be a burden on anyone. They would complain about the hassle or the cost, and Berwald did not want to listen to that.

"Well, we'll have to do something about that, won't we?" Mathias said with determination in his voice. "Can't have my best buddy going around half blind. Think of all the things you're missing!" With that said, Mathias slung an arm around Berwald's shoulders, which forced the much taller boy to slump down slightly until he was on Mathias' level. "Come on, I have a friend you need to meet."

The only thing that Berwald and Mathias had in common other than their age was their lack of parents. Where Berwald was quiet, shy, awkward, Mathias was loud, brash, and quick to befriend almost anyone he met. Where Berwald preferred solitude, Mathias thrived as the center of attention. He was the sort of person Berwald usually avoided, but there was no avoiding Mathias. Mathias pressed friendship upon you by sheer force of will.

Mathias was like a tidal wave, and Berwald was quickly being pulled out to sea.

* * *

Mathias brought Berwald out into the city. Berwald did not like the city, it made him nervous. The streets were crowded, full of strangers and unfamiliar landmarks. It was a place Berwald usually avoided at all costs, but he was helpless as Mathias pulled him along by the arm, weaving them effortlessly through the crowd. Mathias did not bump into a single person no matter how closely he squeezed between the masses. Berwald found himself stumbling into many and getting complaints from more than a few. Berwald had lost track of their location. If Mathias abandoned him he did not think he would be able to find his way back to the house on his own, and that frightened him.

"Where're we going?" Berwald asked not for the first time as he was pulled along through the streets. The air was chill, it was late autumn. At a previous home in the countryside this season had brought with it the smell of wood fires and pine trees and early morning frost. The city smelled the same all year round, like people and smog and garbage. The only thing that changed was the temperature of the air.

"We're going to meet a friend of mine," Mathias replied, the same as he had all the other times Berwald asked. It was not a satisfactory answer, and in fact told Berwald exactly nothing.

They wound their way through streets and down alleys for several minutes more before Mathias finally came to a stop. Hoping they had reached their final destination Berwald raised his eyes from the pavement where he had been staring to keep from tripping in pot holes or over garbage. They were standing before a building as nondescript as all the rest, set apart from the ones crowded on either side only by its street number and a sign above the door that Berwald could not read. Mathias walked right up to the door, still tugging Berwald along behind him, and knocked. There was no immediate reply, but after a while there came a voice that Berwald could barely make out through the wood and above the bustle of the crowd. "Who is it and what do you want?" The voice was gruff and deep.

"It's Mathias," the teen replied. "I've come to collect on a favor."

When there was again no reply Berwald thought they would be turned away, until he heard the click of a lock and then the door opened. Standing in the threshold was a man as tall as Berwald, a surprise in itself, and surrounded by the smell of tobacco smoke. "I don't recall owing you any favors," he commented.

"You don't," Mathias admitted with a laugh. "But I need to ask one anyway."

The man sighed, "What is it?"

"This is my buddy Berwald," Mathias said, pulling Berwald up to his side and slinging an arm around his shoulders once more. Berwald was quickly becoming annoyed by this action, he hoped Mathias would hit a growth spurt soon if it was going to become a habit. "Berwald, this is Jan. If you need something, Jan can get it for you. No matter what, he can get it."

"Nice t' meet you," Berwald mumbled, but he still had no idea what they were doing here.

"Jan," Mathias continued, "Berwald needs some glasses."

"Glasses?" Jan asked skeptically. "What for?"

"To see, of course," Mathias said. "Apparently this poor sod has been going through life half-blind and the foster system doesn't even give a damn. And, well, seeing how he's the first person who's been nice to me since I got picked up, I thought I owed him one."

"Mathias performing random acts of kindness," Jan muttered. "Never thought I'd see the day. Come on in." The man stepped out of the way and Mathias quickly pulled Berwald inside. The two boys were lead through the house into a living room, where Mathias sat down on the sofa as though he owned the place. Berwald sat down beside him and looked around nervously. There was not much he could make out, though. White walls, the sofa was well worn and the coffee table might have been real wood, but Berwald doubted it. The whole place stunk of smoke. "Wait here, I've got some stuff to finish up, then we'll talk," Jan informed them, before he disappeared deeper into the house.

"How d' you know him?" Berwald asked, rather uncomfortable with this whole situation.

"Jan helped me out when I was living on the street," Mathias replied.

Berwald frowned; Mathias had never mentioned that he had lived on the street. Thankfully the other boy seemed to realize this before Berwald had a chance to try and ask the question in a tactful way. "When I figured out my parents weren't coming back I tried to find them, and I knew I would've run out of food and stuff at home anyway if they didn't come home soon. Wound up homeless, trying to steal food just to get by. Almost got caught once, that's how Jan found me, and he helped me out. I might be dead or in prison now if it weren't for him. He managed to keep me out of trouble, at least until the system found me and picked me up a couple years ago. That's how I wound up with you," Mathias chuckled and nudged Berwald, but if there was a joke somewhere in his speech Berwald did not see it.

Mathias did not seem at all bothered by this story, and Berwald found that curious. The other had obviously been upset the night before when talking about his parents, but he seemed completely fine discussion years of homelessness. Jan did not sound like he was that much older than the two of them, but Mathias spoke of him as though he was wise beyond his years. Maybe he was, Berwald had only just met the man.

A few minutes later Jan returned to the living room and took a seat in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag before leaning forward on his knees to stare at the two teens. "Berwald how old are you?" he asked curiously.

"Fifteen," Berwald replied. "How old 're you?"

Jan laughed. "Twenty," he replied. "You don't talk much do you?" he assessed, "But you've got some lip, I'll give you that. So how long's your eyes been bad?"

Berwald shrugged. "Long 's I can remember," he replied.

Jan gave a whistle of amazement and sat back in his seat, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Damn. And you've never had glasses? Those fosters are even worse than I thought. I swear you'd both be better off on the streets for how much they care."

Berwald frowned, disagreeing. He had a home, clothing, schooling and food. Just because they did not notice his bad eyesight did not mean they were neglectful. But he did not say anything. He did not want to start a fight.

“Well, I’ll see what I can do, but no guarantees,” Jan said. “How bad’s your eyesight?”

“Pretty bad,” Berwald replied, not knowing how else to describe it. He got around well enough, but it certainly made life difficult. He would not mind having it fixed.

Jan chuckled softly. “Well can you see far or close? Or is everything fucked?”

“Can see close,” Berwald said.

“Right. Well that gives us somewhere to start, doesn’t it,” Jan said thoughtfully. “Doctors are expensive and I assume you have no money. You’re lucky you’ve got me.”

* * *

Jan sent them off with a promise that he would be in touch when he had anything to give them, and Mathias dragged Berwald back out of the house. Berwald still was not certain he believed this was real, or if he should hold out hope that anything would happen. How could a stranger who had never given an eye exam find glasses that could help Berwald’s vision improve? He would not keep his hopes up, and as time went on even forgot about the visit to Jan’s home all together.

Mathias did not forget, though. At least, he did not forget about Berwald’s terrible eyesight, and he had taken to describing in great detail anything that he thought Berwald would find interesting. He would take Berwald by the wrist and lead him about the home and the streets, pointing out and describing things to him as though he could fix Berwald’s eyesight by sheer force of will.

Of course, fixing Berwald’s vision was not that easy, though Berwald never complained for one second when Mathias hauled him around the city. Though he would not admit it to Mathias, Berwald thought that maybe it was fun to have a friend after all. And he certainly could not call his life boring anymore. 

One day when Mathias dragged Berwald out of the house against the Swede’s protests that he had school work to finish, the wild-haired boy seemed far more excited than usual. “Where’re we going?” Berwald asked as he was pulled down the street by the sleeve of his jacket. Winter was coming soon, they grey of the sky was not entirely from pollution and a chill wind whipped through the streets. The weather station on the radio said it would snow that week. Berwald wished Mathias had given him time to grab a scarf, but Mathias was practically running as he dragged Berwald along, dodging them between people and vehicles on the streets.

“Come on, hurry up,” Mathias kept saying. “You’ve gotta come, this is really important,” he added whenever Berwald protested against being manhandled or when they had barely missed being hit by a car or bike. So eventually Berwald shut up and let Mathias pull him through the streets until they stopped in front of a house. A house like all the other houses, crammed between two other identical buildings, but somehow Berwald felt like he should know where he was. Mathias pulled him up the steps and knocked urgently on the door until it was pulled open, and then Berwald knew why Mathias had been so excited.

Jan stared down at them from the other side of the doorframe, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and looking like the pounding on the door had just woken him up. “What is wrong with you? I’m not deaf.”

“Sorry,” Mathias said hurriedly, “But I got your message. You really have them?”

The tall man looked from Mathias, to Berwald, and then back again, “Yeah, I’ve got some that might work. Come on in.”

Although Berwald had completely forgotten about Mathias’ crazy plan to get him a pair of glasses, it all came flooding back as Mathias pulled him into the house and back into the same living room he remembered from the last time. The air still smelled of cigarettes and other things that Berwald would rather not know about, but he sat down without protest on the sofa and waited patiently while Jan left the room. The man returned a minute later with a small box. He handed it to Berwald without a word but Mathias snatched it out of his hands before Berwald even had a chance. “You’re sure these’ll work?” Mathias asked. He’d opened the box and lifted out a pair of wire rimmed glasses.

“Maybe,” Jan shrugged, “Best I could do without getting the kid to see a doctor. But no one sees a doctor without records, and I figured we all wanted to avoid that.”

“How did you get ‘em, then?” Mathias asked.

“Know a guy at the hospital owes me a favor, stole these out of the supplies,” Jan replied, flopping in a chair on the other side of the room. “They’re the generics they give out to homeless people, probably the best you’d get in the system anyway. Government doesn’t wanna spend money on you. Anyway, let him put them on, see if they work.”

Mathias was almost more excited about this than Berwald, the Swede could not help thinking as his friend finally turned to him and held out the glasses. Berwald could hardly imagine a world where everything was clear and sharp, so he did not know enough to be excited. But when the lenses slid onto his nose Berwald had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his head from spinning. For a moment the change made him dizzy. It was so much different from the way he had seen the world his whole life. When he finally opened his eyes again it was with wonder. Who would have thought that two simple pieces of glass could do so much? Everything came into focus. 

It was startling, almost horrifying from the sheer difference. For as long as he could remember Berwald had never been able to see anything more than an arm’s length away from his face. The glasses were still far from perfect, they certainly were not the correct prescription, but they made enough of a difference that Berwald was glad he was sitting down.

It was amazing. There were so many things that Berwald had never seen before. The pattern on the wallpaper, all the tiny chips and scratches in the coffee table, the proper shape of Mathias’ face. Berwald turned to look out the window beside the sofa and he could see the clouds in the sky, the distant buildings, street signs and birds and the faces of people around him. When he could finally tear himself away from staring at his surroundings Berwald looked back toward Mathias and Jan. Mathias was grinning from ear to ear, hands on his knees as he leaned forward eagerly and watched Berwald take in the world around him for the first time. Berwald probably would have punched him for looking so arrogant if he were not so horribly grateful for Mathias arranging this whole thing for him.

“They work?” Jan asked, watching him curiously.

“Yeah,” Berwald replied.

“Good,” Jan nodded to himself and even smiled a tiny bit. “Probably ain’t perfect, but long as you can see that’s what matters, right? You owe me one, kid.”

Berwald just nodded. He knew he should thank them both, but he could not bring himself to speak right now. And he knew that a simple ‘thank you’ would never be enough. It had probably been simple, if Berwald thought about it, to get glasses for him, though he preferred not to think about how they had been acquired. But for Berwald it changed his entire world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fara i Viking – An Old Norse phrase meaning “to go on an expedition”. The term “viking” implies raids or piracy.  
> Fyrsta – Meaning “first” or “beginning” in Old Norse.  
> Midgard - Earth in Norse mythology, the Human world.


	2. Jötunheim

“Eiríkur, come on,” Aleksander stopped and turned around when he realized his younger brother was no longer at his heels. He pushed his shaggy blond hair out of his face and placed his hands on his hips, trying to look as authoritative as possible for a thirteen-year-old boy. It tended to work on his brother.

“I wanna go home,” Eiríkur complained. He had fallen behind his brother, growing more and more reluctant to follow as they headed out of the city and toward the mountains. “I don’t wanna get eaten by Trolls.”

“I’ve told you, there’s no such thing as Trolls,” Aleksander said matter-of-factly. “That’s just a story parents make up to scare kids.”

Jötunheim was supposed to be the paradise of colonized worlds. It climate and structure it was exactly like Midgard. It was rich in natural resources and the necessities of life. It had been easily colonized early in mankind’s excursion into the stars. Paradise. Just like home, but without the overcrowding, without the slums, without the filth. At least that was what all the promotional material said. Those who were fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to live on Jötunheim knew the truth.

Certainly the planet and all of its several settlements were picturesque. Lush greenery covered much of the mountainous surface. Settlements were small, quaint, and meticulously maintained. But this all hid a secret the colonizers had tried, and failed, to keep for centuries.

Jötunheim had natives. A race of sentient beings not terribly different from humans; though most humans would deny this vehemently.

Giants, they were called colloquially. Trolls, more derogatorily. Jötun was their proper name, from which the planet received its own.

The Jötun were generally a solitary and peaceful people, if primitive. They were happy to leave the human settlers alone if they in turn were left alone. But humans are vain and greedy, and the first colonizers built too close to the Jötun’s homes. The ruins of that failed settlement could still be seen on the side of a mountain. A warning for future generations.

Relations between man and Jötun were tense ever since, but the settler’s learned their place. Cities now sat only in the flatlands, leaving the higher elevations to their natural residents. They did not grow too large, and worried about over stepping their bounds.

Now it had been centuries since there was any contact between the colonizers and their neighbors. Giants and Trolls were now little more than bedtime stories told to naughty children. If you do not behave the Trolls will come and eat you. Do not wander too far from town or the Trolls will kidnap you. Every so often someone foolish went out for a hike or a trip to another city and was never heard from again. Rumor said they had wandered too close to the mountains; too close to Jötun territory.

Aleksander had grown up hearing these warnings, just like everyone else. But he thought he was smarter than everyone else; more mature. Only babies believed stories about Trolls. There was no such thing. At least not anymore. And he was out to prove it.

“Eiríkur there’s nothing to be afraid of,” The young teen insisted again as he tugged on his younger brother’s arm. Poor Eiríkur was sniveling and trembling. Neither of them had been this far beyond the city walls before, and Eiríkur still vehemently believed in fairytales both with and without Trolls.

“Why do I have to come?” Eiríkur asked. He was doing his best to resist Aleksander’s tugging, but his brother was much bigger than him.

“I have to have a witness, or no one will believe me,” Aleksander replied. It did not occur to his young mind that his six-year-old brother was not a reliable witness. Eiríkur still did not want to follow, so Aleksander tugged harder on his arm, pulling him along. “Come on, Eiríkur, don’t be a coward. There’s no such thing as Trolls or Giants.”

“How do you know?” Eiríkur asked. There was little he could do but follow his brother.

“Because if there were we would know more about them,” Aleksander reasoned. “There would be pictures and stuff.”

“I guess,” Eiríkur mumbled. He did not believe that himself, but he wanted to. Then there would be no danger going into the mountains.

For a full hour the two boys hiked into increasingly dense forest and up increasingly rough terrain. The town they lived in had long since fallen from view, obscured by acres of trees and hills. “Aleksander how much farther?” Eiríkur asked. He was still frightened, and now he was tired as well.

“We’re barely past the foothills,” Aleksander chided, and tugged harder on his brother’s arm as Eiríkur dragged his feet. “No one will believe us if we don’t go all the way. It would be even better if we found a cave.”

“I don’t like caves,” Eiríkur whined. Of course he had never actually seen a cave in his life, but they did not sound very pleasant. “I want to go home.”

“Well I’m not going until I can prove there is no such thing as Trolls,” Aleksander said determinedly. “You can either come with me or you can find your way home by yourself.”

Eiríkur sniffed and wiped his free arm across his face, smearing the lines of tears across his cheeks. He did not want to continue, but he did not want to be left in the woods on his own either. “Fine,” he said eventually.

“Good,” Aleksander said and finally let go of his brother’s arm. “Keep up or I’ll leave you behind.”

Aleksander was nearly twice the height of his brother and Eiríkur struggled to keep up with him. There was no path to follow and they scrambled over rocks and through bushes. In his haste to keep up with his brother Eiríkur was not paying attention to his footing. As they climbed up a particularly rocky patch he slipped, yelped in surprise, and went tumbling down the hill. Thankfully his yelp caught his brother’s attention enough for Aleksander to turn around and look. All he saw was Eiríkur disappear into the brush below him. In that instant Aleksander felt his heart stop.

“Eiríkur?” he asked the empty air, voice full of disbelieve and confusion. What had happened? When there was no reply the boy began to panic. “Eiríkur!” he shouted, and was immediately scrambling down the slope in the direction his brother had disappeared. As he climbed down he continued to call out his brother’s name, and he moved so quickly that he stumbled a few times himself. By the time he had finally reached the bottom of the slope where Eiríkur’s fall had brought him Aleksander’s hands and arms were scraped and bloody, his face scratched by twigs of the bushes he had crashed through in his frantic search for his brother. “Eiríkur! Eiríkur are you alright?” he asked, frantic, and rushed to the younger boy’s side. Eiríkur was in tears, and in even worse shape than his brother. Not only was he scratched and bleeding, but his clothes were torn and leaves and twigs stuck from his platinum hair. But he was alive, and for a moment that was all that mattered to Aleksander and he threw his arms around his younger brother.

They stayed like that for a long while, Eiríkur sobbing from pain and fear and Aleksander clinging to him as though his life depended on it. When finally the two of them calmed down somewhat Aleksander pulled back from his hug enough to take a proper look at his little brother. “Are you hurt?” he asked, though it was obvious to some extent that the answer was yes.

Eiríkur nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “My leg hurts really bad,” he said, and pointed to the limb in question.

Aleksander immediately feared the worst; a broken bone while they were both stranded out in the woods where no one knew to look for them. But after a short examination he did not think it was that bad. Of course, Aleksander was no doctor, he was only thirteen years old himself. All he knew was that Eiríkur’s leg was still the shape it was supposed to be, so it could not be that bad an injury. But the reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him, the reality of how monumentally bad a decision it had been to come wandering into the mountains and to drag his baby brother along with him. “Can you walk?” Aleksander asked apprehensively. It was still only the mid afternoon, there was still time to go home and make up a story about how they had been playing in the fields just beyond the city walls. They would not get in too much trouble for that.

But Aleksander’s hopes were crushed when Eiríkur shook his head. “I tried to stand up before. It hurts too much.”

This was bad. Very bad. Aleksander could probably carry his little brother, but that would make it a lot more difficult to get down the side of the mountain and back home. He might even fall himself and make things even worse. But he had to try. What else was there to do? Wait here until they both starved to death?

“I’ll carry you,” Aleksander said. It was the only thing he could think of. No one knew where they were, no one would come looking for them, and it was his fault Eiríkur was out here to begin with. He knelt down in front of his younger brother so that Eiríkur could climb onto his back. It would make it a lot more difficult to get down the mountain, but it had to be done. Eiríkur clambered up and wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders, holding on tight as Aleksander stood up. “Don’t worry,” Aleksander said, “We’re going home now.”

Eiríkur nodded and laid his head against Aleksander’s shoulder. It felt safer with his brother carrying him. Aleksander was always brave and smart, always taking care of him. Surely nothing could happen to him with Aleksander around. But he did not like being so far from home, he would much rather be back in the city where their parents could come if anything happened.

Slowly and carefully Aleksander made his way down the slope, far more nervous now than on the way in. It made their progress slow, and Aleksander was paying more attention to where he was putting his feet than in what direction they were going. After a while he began to realize that he had probably strayed off the path they took in. Not that there were any true paths to begin with. An hour later the sun was going down and Aleksander had completely lost his sense of direction. By now their parents definitely would have noticed they were missing and would be starting to worry. Aleksander was worried to. Scared, actually, but he did not want Eiríkur to see that. Eiríkur was frightened enough as it was, it would only make things worse if he knew his brother was also afraid. He had to keep letting Eiríkur think that everything was fine.

“Aleksander I’m hungry,” Eiríkur mumbled from where his head was resting on his brother’s shoulder.

“I know,” Aleksander replied. Exhausted as well, he guessed, and still hurt. “We’ll be home soon,” he said, though he knew it was a lie. The trees were not even starting to thin and the ground was as rough and steep as ever. It felt like they were not making any progress at all.

“Okay,” Eiríkur mumbled.

They were moving much slower than before. Even if they had somehow managed to stay on the same path they had taken in, which Aleksander doubted, they would not make it home soon. They might even have to spend the night out here. Aleksander did not want to do that, but he also did not want to try and find his way in the dark. He had made enough bad decisions already, it was time he started worrying more about his little brother and less about his own pride.

Eventually Aleksander stumbled into a small clearing where the ground was relatively flat. He stopped to look up at the sky where it was not obscured by trees. It was dark and the stars were starting to come out. “Eiríkur,” he said slowly, “I don’t think we’re going to get home tonight.”

“We aren’t?” Eiríkur asked. He sounded disappointed as he raised his head to look around.

“It’s getting dark,” Aleksander said, “I think we should rest for a while.”

“I want to go home,” Eiríkur whined.

“I know,” Aleksander assured. “We’ll go back home first thing in the morning, okay?” Eiríkur begrudgingly agreed, though he did not have another choice. Aleksander set him back down on the ground and immediately Eiríkur sat down. “How’s your leg?” Aleksander asked.

“Hurts,” Eiríkur mumbled. “I want to go home. I want mom.”

“I know,” Aleksander said again. “I do too,” he admitted. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll be safe here tonight, and in the morning we’ll go home, and I’m sure mom will be so happy to see us she’ll make your favorite breakfast.”

“You think?” Eiríkur asked. He seemed to perk up at the mere thought of a good breakfast. Neither of them had eaten since lunch the day before.

“I do,” Aleksander replied. He just hoped their parents would not be too angry at him for dragging Eiríkur into all this. “Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Eiríkur said, and lay down.

Aleksander hoped he had not been lying when he said they would be safe here. Eiríkur did manage to fall asleep, but he was so tired he probably could have been able to sleep anywhere. Aleksander could not sleep himself. He was too worried, and he did not want to be caught off guard by anything that might roam these woods at night. So instead he sat up, as close to his brother as possible, and listened with bated breath to the sounds of the forest after dark. At first all was calm and peaceful. So peaceful that Aleksander began to let down his guard and even started to doze off. He was just as exhausted as his brother.

He was awoken suddenly when the entire forest filled with sound. A huge, monstrous roaring shook through the trees and seemed to shake the very earth itself. Aleksander’s heart sped up in panic and the noise even had Eiríkur awake and sitting up in a matter of seconds. “What was that?” the younger asked, his voice trembling.

“I don’t know,” Aleksander answered, and he was unable to keep the fear out of his voice this time.

The noise petered off and left the forest eerily silent in its absence. Then the brothers heard movement in the forest around them. Something large was coming through the brush, breaking twigs and branches as it did. Aleksander sat frozen with fear. Eiríkur clung to him for safety and reassurance. Aleksander could offer neither. The movement drew closer and closer and the brothers cowered back as best they could, hoping it would somehow pass them by unnoticed. They were not so lucky.

From out of the trees emerged the most massive creature either boy had ever laid eyes on. It came through between two large trees, bending them aside as easily as if they were a curtain that it was stepping through. It was human in shape, at least in the most fundamental of ways. It had two arms and two legs and one head. But it stood over ten feet tall with a bulging belly and limbs the size of tree trunks. It was dressed in some form of garment made of cloth and leather that was loose fitting and belted about the waist, if that could be called the creature’s waist.

“It’s a Troll,” Eiríkur said under his breath. Immediately Aleksander pressed a hand over his mouth, hoping that somehow they could still go unnoticed. But they were not so lucky.

Whether it heard Eiríkur or not the boys never found out, but the Troll turned toward them in exactly that moment. It stared down at the brothers huddled on the ground and clinging to each other. Both were terrified, dirty, and hungry, and now they thought for sure they would be eaten by a Troll. All those stories their mother had told them had to be true; here was the proof. Eiríkur began to cry again.

The Troll had stopped when it entered the clearing, but now it took a step toward them. That was all it took to bring the massive creature right up to their side. Eiríkur screamed, but Aleksander found he had lost his voice entirely, and his will to move.

The Troll stared at them for a long moment, and then it moved toward them. Aleksander still sat frozen and clinging to his little brother, both for reassurance and to try and protect the younger boy. He should get up, he though, he should take Eiríkur and run. They would not be able to make it far, probably, but they had to try, at least. But Aleksander’s legs would not obey, none of his body would. When the Troll reached them it stopped and knelt down to look curiously at the two boys.

The Troll made a noise. Maybe an attempt to speak, but to the brothers it sounded more like the growling of an animal. An animal that wanted to eat them. By now Eiríkur was completely distraught, but Aleksander had no idea what to do to sooth him or to protect him. There was nothing either of them could do against a troll that was far more than twice their size. He could only stare in horror and wait for what he thought was an inevitable fate.

The Troll growled at them again, and grunted. It stared at them closely, and even leaned forward to sniff them. The boys could only sit still, frozen like statues. Then the Troll reached forward, wrapped an arm around the two, and lifted them up. Eiríkur screamed, and even Aleksander could not keep from crying out in fear. They would be crushed, he though, or maybe eaten whole. This was it, they were going to die, and no one would ever know what had happened to them. And worst of all, it was all Aleksander's fault. Eiríkur should never have even been here.

But they were not squashed or eaten. If anything, their obvious terror caused the Troll to hold them more gently. That did nothing to calm either of the boys, though. Still holding them both in one great hand, the Troll stood up again and turned around, heading back up the mountain. Now Aleksander feared they were being brought back to the Troll's cave and cooked. It was more sophistication than he expected from these creatures, and Aleksander was horrified to find himself somewhat impressed.

Far up the mountain the Troll carried them, through the woods and far up until the trees began to thin and the ground became more stone than plants and soil, until they reached a cavernous opening in the face of the mountain. The Troll had to stoop to enter, but its hold on Aleksander and Eiríkur remained secure but surprisingly gentle, and by now Aleksander was even more confused. Because the Troll was being incredibly careful with them. He was still terrified, but so far nothing was going as he had expected from an encounter with these legendary creatures. Even the inside of the cave was not as he had expected. Not some cold, dark, and damp hole in the rough stone, it was in fact dry and warm as the Troll stepped inside with them. And well lit by a fire in the center of the cavern. The floor was smooth, and the ceiling high enough for the Troll to stand up comfortably. Once they were inside, the creature set Aleksander and Eiríkur down beside the fire. Legs unable to hold them both from fear and injury, the boys collapsed to the floor. Immediately Eiríkur reached for and clung to his brother again, face streaked with tears but by now he had run out of tears to cry. Aleksander, despite his efforts not to show how terrified he was in order to keep Eiríkur calm, had cried as well, and was shaking as he wrapped his arms around his brother.

The brothers watched as the Troll moved around the cave, but Aleksander could not understand what it was doing. Off to one side there was a pile of what appeared to be cloths or animal skins, and it spent a long moment sorting through these. Finally it seemed to find whatever it was looking for, and the Troll came back over to the boys. They huddled closer together and Aleksander made a half-hearted attempt to get away, but neither of them could move very quickly right now. From the pile the Troll had taken a blanket woven of thick, rough threads, and it dropped the blanket over the brothers' shoulders, and then left them alone again.

Aleksander was growing more confused by the moment, though Eiríkur was still too frightened and upset to think about what was happening. The blanket was certainly welcome after freezing in the cold mountain air for several hours. Aleksander could not help himself from accepting the comfort it offered, however small, and pulled it tight around both himself and Eiríkur. He used the corner to wipe the tear stains from Eiríkur’s cheeks as well. "It's going to be okay," he said softly, though his voice shook unconvincingly. Eiríkur sniffled and just nodded, huddling as close to Aleksander as possible.

The troll then began shuffling through other things in the cave. Apparently this was its home, and it kept some belongings. It gathered many things into a large metal bowl and brought this over to where the boys sat by the fire. Aleksander's fear mounted again suddenly when he realized that this bowl was intended for the fire and it was full of food. But when the Troll set the pot above the fire it ignored the boys. If they were going to be cooked and eaten, it was apparently not going to be as stew.

As the contents of the pot cooked above the fire silence reigned in the cave. Aleksander and Eiríkur continued to huddle together under the rough oversized blanket wrapped around them. Aleksander kept his eyes firmly on the Troll, trying to figure out what was going on and whether he and Eiríkur should still try to escape the moment an opportunity presented itself. Occasionally the Troll would stir the soup over the fire, but for the most part it seemed to ignore the brothers even though they were sitting just beside it.

Eiríkur’s stomach rumbled and he squeaked in alarm. By now the smell of cooking food filled the cave and Aleksander was beginning to realize how hungry he was as well. Neither of them had eaten since leaving the colony that day. Neither was used to going so long without food. Aleksander had brought none on his little excursion, and he realized how badly this whole thing had been planned. It was a miracle they were both alive to be found by a Troll, but he still expected that they would be eaten by one. The Troll barely glanced over at them when it heard Eiríkur’s yelp, but did nothing more. Eventually it stood up again, leaving the side of the fire pit and the stew to get more things from its store of belongings. Bowls; two of them. It filled both with the soup and sat one of them down in front of the two boys. Of course the bowl was made for someone of Troll size and was far too big for either one of the brothers. Aleksander stared at it, and then back up at the Troll in confusion. They were being fed?

The Troll grunted at them and gestured toward the bowl. Aleksander looked down at it again. He had to admit that he was ravenous. Hungry enough to eat something a Troll had cooked, but he was frightened and suspicious. What was the point in feeding them? Was it trying to fatten them up so that they would make a better meal for it later? But Eiríkur was hungry and injured, and if they could stay alive here for a little while, being fed like this, maybe he would recover enough that they could make a run for it.

Cautiously, Aleksander leaned forward and sniffed at the soup. It did not smell like it was poisoned or spoiled, not that Aleksander had much experience with those sorts of things. Or any experience, for that matter. Still nervous, he reached out from within their blanket cocoon and dipped a finger into the soup. He took a quick tasted and was pleasantly surprised. While not the best thing he had ever eaten, nor even the best soup, it was actually good.

“Go ahead and eat,” Aleksander told his brother. He was not convinced that the food would be fine, but if he was this hungry he knew Eiríkur would be as well. He needed to take care of his little brother, and Eiríkur needed to be fed if his injured ankle was going to heal. That was the most important thing right now. They could not escape while Eiríkur was injured.

Eating was awkward from a bowl so large, and without any utensils. They ended up having to cup the soup in their hands while hunching over the bowl. Hardly a dignified or comfortable way to eat, but both of the boys were hungry enough that they did not care. Much to their surprise, the brothers managed to finish the bowl, which was nearly empty as they sat licking their hands to clean them.

The Troll had finished eating long ago and when it saw that they were done took away the bowl. It growled at them, then. The sound was still frightening, intimidating, but Aleksander did not find it as cripplingly terrifying as he had the first time the Troll attempted to speak to them. Perhaps it was because, despite everything he had ever heard about them, the Troll had done nothing to try and harm Aleksander or his brother. So far, it had done nothing but take care of them. Giving them a blanket to stay warm and a warm meal that sat heavily in their stomachs. The cave was warm and dry, and compared to the clearing they had been in previously it actually felt secure. It felt like a home.

The Troll repeated its growl, and then left the boys alone. Aleksander had no idea what had been said to them, but he was exhausted from walking, carrying Eiríkur, crying, and not to mention it was far past his curfew. Eiríkur was already dozing off against his shoulder, comforted by his brother’s closeness and the meal filling his belly. Aleksander carefully lay down with him and wrapped the blanket tightly around them. Though he tried to stay awake to keep an eye on the Troll he quickly fell asleep.

* * *

The brothers slept soundly and safely through the night, waking the next day well after noon. Eiríkur was the first to wake, but he did not move from within the tight circle of Aleksander’s arms. He was too frightened to, but not nearly as frightened as the day before. They had survived a night in a Troll’s cavern and they were actually better off than they had been in the forest on the slopes of the mountains.

Aleksander woke soon after him, however, and cautiously sat up to look around the cave. Outside the cavern’s smaller opening the sun was shining, but it did not reach far within the cave itself. The fire that had warmed it the night before had sunk down to embers and their Troll host lay asleep on the other side of the fire pit. This struck Aleksander as strange, if only because it was so perfectly normal. They had always been told that Trolls came down from the mountains in the night, that they only did things at night. So of course they would sleep during the day. This would be the perfect time to try and escape. The Troll would not even notice their leaving, perhaps not for hours. But with Eiríkur still injured how far could they get. Aleksander had no idea where they were right now, and he did not think they could find their way back home. He would be more willing to try if Eiríkur were in better shape.

Leaving Eiríkur by the fire Aleksander got up and cautiously explored the cave. It was massive, but appeared to have been carved into the side of the mountain. Perhaps by this Troll, or perhaps by another. But there was not much to find in the cave. A pile of furs, a few pots and bowls, mostly carved of wood or stone, but the metal pot by the fire was surprisingly well made, and it was obviously not made by human’s, judging by the size. There was food stores as well, kept in a side cavern. All vegetables, Aleksander could not help noticing. This did not support the mental image he had of Trolls being terrifying carnivorous monsters.

When he felt he had seen everything there was to see Aleksander rejoined his brother and huddled up in the blanket with him again. The rest of the daylight hours they spent talking quietly and playing small hand games or drawing in the dirt floor.

Only after the sun had set did the Troll stir again, and immediately the two boys stopped their games to watch it cautiously. The huge creature yawned and sat up. The boys waited with bated breath to see if they would be eaten for breakfast. They were not. The Troll barely glanced over at them before it stood up and went to the mouth of the cave, disappearing out into the night. The boys were safe for now.

And safe they remained. For several days this pattern continued. The Troll would go out, do whatever Trolls do in the mountains at night, come back and feed them dinner, and then they would all go to sleep. As time wore on and the Troll showed no signs of wanting to eat them, Aleksander and Eiríkur were able to relax somewhat.

“I don’t think she wants to eat us,” Eiríkur was the first one to say it, though they had both been thinking the same thing. That thought was not what shocked Aleksander about his brother’s statement.

“She? You think it’s a girl?” Aleksander asked.

Eiríkur shrugged, “Doesn’t she look like a girl troll?” he asked. Aleksander had no idea what a girl or a boy troll would look like, this was the only one he had seen up close. “And she’s taking care of us. She gave us food. And she sort of reminds me of mom.”

Aleksander was still cautious, though, still unconvinced that the Troll had not brought them here for some sinister purpose. But even he had to admit that if they were going to be eaten it probably would have happened by now. Eiríkur’s ankle was healing slowly, and Aleksander had been doing his best to take care of it so that it would not get any worse, but it was not something he knew how to handle nor did he have the right tools for the job. Still, at this rate Eiríkur would be well enough to walk in a few more days and they could try again to find their way home.

* * *

A week later they were still in the cave. Eiríkur had long since grown impatient of sitting around. As soon as his fear of the Troll weakened enough that he was not constantly in fear for his life, the young boy tried to get up and hobble around the cave as far as his injury would let him. Aleksander was unable to keep him from sitting in one place, and now he worried that Eiríkur’s youthful energy would prevent his ankle from healing as quickly as it could.

From the looks of things, however, it seemed they would be safe here indefinitely. Each evening the Troll woke and left the cave, going out to do whatever it is Trolls do during the night. One time Aleksander had considered following her, but he only went as far as the cave entrance. He did not want to leave his brother alone here. When she returned in the early hours of the morning the Troll woman always brought food for the boys. Aleksander had been wary at first, none of the food was familiar to him, but nothing had made him ill.

The Troll cooked for them using the fire pit in her cave, and showed more finesse than Aleksander would have expected. There was a type of coarse, heavy bread that was prepared from a thick paste and fried on hot rocks, slices of a meat Aleksander did not recognize the flavor of but that was butchered with enough skill to impress a human chef, and various root vegetables and berries that were usually cooked into some form of soup. None of it was actually bad, though it did not taste like anything the brothers had eaten before.

Often the Troll would attempt to speak to them in her strange growling language, and sometimes late at night Aleksander thought he heard her speaking to another Troll outside the cave, but they never saw any Troll but the one who was caring for them. After all this time, Aleksander and Eiríkur were beginning to recognize certain sounds that she would make. Eiríkur once tried to repeat one of the words she said, one they assumed referred to food, and the Troll had laughed at them and smiled around its huge crooked teeth. “Your accent is probably terrible,” Aleksander told him later. But accents aside, the brothers were beginning to understand, and beginning to make themselves understood. They were learning. They could communicate.

And with communication came understanding.

With their limited but rapidly increasing Troll vocabulary, the boys learned that they were not in fact considered food. The question actually made their caretaker laugh again. “Jotun not eat people,” she explained simply, paring down her words so the brothers would understand. “Jotun eat plant and deer.”

“Why Humans say Jotun eat them?” Aleksander asked.

“Humans not like Jotun,” the Troll explained. “Long time ago, Humans want to live on Jotun land. Try to make Jotuns move, but Jotuns not want to. Jotuns live here many years, long before Humans come to planet. When Jotuns not leave Humans attack them, try to kill all Jotuns and have planet for Humans only. Jotuns fight back to protect selves. Many Humans and Jotuns killed, was very sad time. Finally Humans and Jotuns make peace, Humans can have flat places, Jotuns have mountains. Jotuns like mountains better anyway. Now no more fighting, but Humans and Jotuns still not friends. Still much fear.”

“So Humans hate you because they want your land?” Aleksander asked. “They tell us you attacked Humans first.”

The Troll shook her head solemnly. “Cannot say who really attack first. Fighting is long time ago,” she explained. “Jotuns only want live in peace, like before Humans come. Still not safe for little Human boys to explore mountains. Not all Jotuns nice to humans, some still hate all and want Humans off planet. Maybe would hurt Human boys to scare other Humans and make them leave.”

“I don’t think it would make them leave,” Aleksander said. “They would get angry, probably attack you for revenge.”

“Then war start again,” the Troll agreed. “This why Human boys need to go home when they can. Grid take Human boys down mountain to flat places, safe from other Jotuns, then you go home.”

“Can we ever see you again?” Eiríkur asked. He had grown fond of the Troll woman – Grid – even though his brother was eager to get home and put this behind them.

“Not safe for Human boys to come to mountains,” the Troll shook her head sadly. “Grid keep you safe, but you lucky that Grid find you before another. You come to mountains again, maybe you not very lucky.”

“Mom and Dad are probably really worried about us, too,” Aleksander said to his brother. “We’ve been gone for a long time, and we didn’t even tell them we were leaving.” Everyone probably thought they were dead by now. “We should go home as soon as you think your ankle’s better.”

Eiríkur pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. Honestly, his ankle was much better, had been improving rapidly, but he was playing it up so that they would not have to leave. He liked it here, where he did not have to go to school or do chores. “I know,” he mumbled. “But we’re friends now, and I want to see her again.”

“Maybe we will,” Aleksander said, “You never know. But she’s right, it would be too dangerous for us to come up here by ourselves again.”

“Fine,” Eiríkur sighed and pouted even more. He knew that Aleksander and Grid were right, but he did not have to be happy about it. “I guess we can go home soon.”

Three days later Eiríkur felt fully healed, and as promised Grid lead the boys down the mountain to the edge of the woods. It was just before dawn when they neared the edge of the trees and the Troll woman would go no further. “You see Human city when you leave forest,” she told them, pointing in the right direction. “Grid have to leave now, very dangerous if Humans see her.”

“Thank you for taking care of us,” Aleksander said, craning his neck to look up at the towering woman.

“We’ll miss you,” Eiríkur added, looking a little weepy though the young boy had managed to hold back his tears for now.

“Grid miss you, too,” the Troll replied, “Very nice Human boys. Wish all Humans nice like you.”

“Me too,” Aleksander replied, and took his brother’s hand as they headed out of the trees. When they looked back Grid was gone, already headed back up the mountain toward her cave, and Aleksander pulled his little brother toward the city in the distance and back home.

* * *

Aleksander and Eiríkur showed up on their front step looking decidedly worse for the wear after two weeks in the wilderness. When she answered the door and found the two boys standing there like nothing was wrong their mother screamed and cried and hugged them as though she would never let them go. Even their father seemed happy and relieved to see them safe. Naively, the boys had assumed this was all they would have to endure. But as soon as their parents got over their hysterics the boys were swept off to the nearest hospital, where they were questioned and poked and prodded enough to set Eiríkur to tears multiple times. He cried more at the hospital that day than he had during their impromptu holiday. Aleksander felt smothered, claustrophobic. He did not want to talk to any of these people, and tried to shove away the doctors and his parents when they came too close.

They told everyone who asked the true story of what had happened to them. At first no one believed them, but Aleksander insisted. Childishly, he thought that if more people knew that the Jotun were gentle and intelligent it would improve things between their two species. It did not. The story got twisted as it traveled from Aleksander to his parents, to the doctors, to the reporters. They told a story about two boys who had gotten lost in the woods, stumbled upon a group of Jotun, and managed to survive by pretending to be Troll children until they had a chance to escape.

Both protested vehemently that this was not the case at all, but no one listens to children.

They spent two days in hospital before being allowed home, where they were continually smothered by their parents until Aleksander thought he would go mad. Two full weeks of “recovery” that felt more like house arrest and more like captivity than anything they had suffered with Grid, then they were finally allowed to venture outside again. Tentatively, their parents allowed them to go back to school, and the boys had never been more relieved to go to school before in their lives.

Unfortunately, when Aleksander and Eiríkur returned to school they found that their torment had only begun. Of course the pair had been all over the local news: two young boys who survived in the mountains for weeks by “pretending to be Troll children” the stories said.

“Troll brothers,” the other kids called them. “Go back to the mountains. Nobody wants you here. Smelly trolls.” And much worse came out of the mouths of children. Those they thought were friends now shunned them out of either disgust or fear. On the way home from school that first day Eiríkur was shoved into the mud and the kids laughed at him. “That’s where trolls belong. He must feel right at home.” He returned home in tears.

And this was all Aleksander’s fault. His fault that Eiríkur got hurt. His fault they got lost. His decision to go with the Jotun that found them. His fault for forcing Eiríkur to go with him on such a reckless venture in the first place.

“Don’t let them get to you, Eiríkur,” Aleksander told him as he cleaned his brother up that afternoon. “They’re just trying to make you feel bad. But you didn’t do anything wrong, there’s nothing to feel bad for.”

“Still feel bad, though,” Eiríkur mumbled.

“Yeah, me too,” Aleksander said. “But if you don’t let them see that, they’ll stop bothering you.”

“They will?” Eiríkur asked. He did not quite believe that.

“Most of them, anyway,” Aleksander said. “But don’t worry about the rest. I’d never let them do anything bad to you. You know that right?”

“Yeah,” Eiríkur mumbled, nodding slightly.

“Good,” Aleksander replied. As long as he was around nothing could happen to Eiríkur. He had kept him safe in the mountains, and he would keep him safe in the city as well. And everywhere else they went, because he never intended to let Eiríkur out of his sight again. Nothing was more important than making sure his little brother was never scared and hurt like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jötunheim – home of the Jötun, or Trolls/Giants.  
> Grid – A friendly Jotun woman from Norse mythology, mother of Odin’s son Vidar.


End file.
